


Chuseok

by potatochul (ai_hao)



Category: Super Junior
Genre: Author: Hao, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 15:46:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8062252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ai_hao/pseuds/potatochul
Summary: It's Gunhee's first Chuseok since moving to Singapore.





	

Gunhee slumped back into his apartment building, dragging his feet, a little tipsy, very exhausted. It wasn’t that his shop’s Chuseok party had been bad. He’d had fun, even. And yet.

The doorman gave him a strange smile as he unlocked the door. Maybe it showed on Gunhee’s face, the vague melancholy of celebrating a holiday that nobody in the city around you recognized, with none of the people you’d taken for granted that you’d see this day every year.

“Happy Mid-Autumn Festival, sir,” the doorman said in English, holding the door open.

“Thanks,” Gunhee replied. If it came out less than heartfelt, the doorman didn’t seem offended. Gunhee trudged through the door and upstairs to his floor. Tired as he was, he almost didn’t notice the person waiting in front of his apartment. His eyes fell on a familiar pair of Adidas slippers and he stopped in his tracks.

“Hey, what the hell!” Gunhee blurted out, a little too loud. Heechul looked up in surprise from the cup of instant noodles he was eating (which, Gunhee would bet you money, had been filched from his kitchen cupboard).

“Is that any way to greet your best friend of eighteen years who just flew eighteen hours to see you?” Heechul demanded.

Gunhee had more pressing concerns than correcting the multiple inaccuracies in that statement. “When the hell’d you get here?”

“Few minutes ago.”

“How long do you have?”

“Three hours.”

“And you didn’t call me?!”

“I was about to!” Heechul slurped up the last of his noodles indignantly. “Was busy. And hungry. Skipped dinner.”

“You didn’t break in, did you?”

“The doorman’s daughter is my fan.” Thus the weird look. “Well? Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna let me in?”

“You distracted me, punk,” Gunhee grumbled. He keyed in the code and opened the door. The light was on, though he remembered turning it off. And what was that smell—

Gunhee hurried to take his shoes off and stepped into the kitchen, sure he was imagining things. But there on his table—the _songpyeon_ , the fried _dongtae_ , the _pajeon_ —all the food you could make in Singapore but just wouldn’t taste quite the same. An empty travel size cooler sat open in the corner.

“You…brought all this here?” he asked, half glancing back as Heechul followed him in. “For me?”

“I was sick of you bugging me to send you kimchi,” Heechul replied, his usual cheeky-little-shit grin on his face. “Next year you have to come to my place, though. You owe me one.”

“I…” Gunhee faltered. He looked at the food, then back at Heechul, struggling and failing to put into words everything that was going through his head. Finally he gave up and settled for pulling Heechul into his arms. “Just…thank you.”

“Happy Chuseok.”

“It is now.”


End file.
